


Oneiron

by Recluse



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Crushes, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 17:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7116157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have dreams of things that are different, of lives they've never seen, but they never truly change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oneiron

A faint smell of decay, and the sound of steel.

A bridge being cut. A tattered rope, tied together to a rotting wood post, cut through easily, without hesitation.

A dying hope in his heart. A fire by his side.

 _“        We can save the world together. Don't you want to be there to see it?_ _”_

* * *

It’s two weeks into the new semester that Inigo starts having dreams that are uncomfortably real.

Honestly speaking, he doesn’t appreciate them. He’s twenty, finally settling into college, and finally getting into dance classes he should have gotten into in his first year, but hadn’t because he still hadn’t wanted to admit a number of things about himself to himself at the time. He’d been undeclared and dabbling instead, and well, it had taken a year of self reflection and a mishmash of classes to fully come to terms with everything.

Now though, he’s fine. Theoretically. He’s been through the identity crisis and the social standing crisis and the ‘but how will I get a job after college if I major in dance’ crisis. He’s made his peace with it all, for the most part.

Which is why these realistic, vaguely terrifying, nightmarish dreams he keeps having are deeply unwanted. The last thing he needs is some new thing to stress him out, especially at the start of the semester with a full load of classes for the first time ever.

“Is that Inigo I see there, settled deep in the bittersweet haven of all who crave power?”

Across from him, someone sits in the second chair of the tiny corner table near the window that Inigo always tries to sit at.

“It’s called Starbucks, Owain.”

“Of course! Since they charge the very stars for their elixirs of vitality!”

Inigo rolls his eyes, but can’t stop himself from smiling when Owain leans a little closer.

“Seriously though,” Owain whispers, sipping on something that looks like a frappuccino, “it’s like, what, five, six dollars?”

“Only because you like the most complicated drinks on the menu.”

“A legend must only dine on the most legendary of fares, my friend.”

Inigo snorts. “The most sugary, you mean.”

“Better than the weird things you like.”

“And what do you know about my drink preferences?”

“Enough to know that they’re weird.” Owain takes another sip, as if to punctuate his point, and Inigo stirs the straw in his iced coffee.

Owain is...An acquaintance, another person in his beginning dance class. His introduction had left quite the impression on just about everyone, at first, and if Inigo were being honest, he had wanted nothing to do with him after it.

“You know what’s really weird? Introducing yourself as ‘Owain Dark’.”

“Hey, we went over that! It’s just a habit, okay?!”

“One you’ve yet to break, apparently.”

“It’s a really old habit!”

Despite his initial reaction though, they had ended up getting along right that day. It was hard not to get along with him, really, for all his eccentricity, Owain was fun to be around. He was sharper than he acted, quick to wit, he worked hard when necessary, and he managed his double major with a surprisingly detailed agenda — Inigo had seen it, meticulously organized by time and subject, if with messy handwriting. He was definitely a bit odd, dramatic in a way that even the other theater majors in their class found weird, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

Strangely enough, Inigo even felt like they’d met before, once he’d actually spoken to him. It wasn’t likely, seeing as he was from the sticks and Owain had apparently lived next to the university his whole life, but...Something stirred in his gut despite that.

“Earth to Inigo, hey— has some fell curse come across you? Have you been struck speechless by my overwhelming aura?”

Owain’s hand in his face brings him back to the present. He blinks and swats it aside. “No, nothing of the sort. Your ‘aura’ isn’t overwhelming whatsoever.”

“Lies. But I understand your bravado.” Inigo takes a sip of his coffee and ignores that. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just some strange dreams, nothing much.” He turns away, spots a cute girl, and redirects the conversation.

It’s just a few dreams. He hardly remembers the details of most of them. It’s probably just his nerves about the new.

 

* * *

 

Soft lights, and the smell of fruit and dirt, spring-like. The bustle, and a hint of blood underneath the rest.

A sensation of melancholy, regret, a dash of fear. A knowing look and a bright smile.

_“        If you ever need a shoulder to lean on, I'll always be willing to listen. _”__

 

* * *

It’s one of those dreams again.

The ones where he has to dash to write them down, because they’re excellent plot ideas and they fade so quickly if he doesn’t hurry, like words in the sand, hit by the ocean waves. Flowing through his mind’s hand like water, slipping away through his fingers.

That’s a good one. A good line. He’s got to keep that one for another time.

He runs out of the house to class, late thanks to his journaling, but he slides in just as the professor does. It’s a good thing they like to come late, because especially this semester, inspiration flows from his head to his hands each morning, a dream more real than the last. Each one, a wellspring of ideas, tales of pain and heartbreak, of heroes unsung, a story more complex then first meets the eye. The only thing they share is the faded image of someone’s smile, a bright grin against what looks to be grim times, a glimmer of hope that leaves him warm in the chest when he wakes, even sometimes with tears in his eyes.

It’s all so moving, and heroic, and Owain jots down notes in one notebook while writing the next plot for a short film script in another. Maybe he’ll try pitching this one to someone in the animation department — he’s sure they’ll see the beauty of heroes in hard places, saved by a lovely smile.

And just as he thinks that, class comes to an end, and he gathers his things and leaves, contemplating.

It really is a great smile, every dream, even when it looks stressed, but...It’s starting to feel familiar, way too familiar for a dream. Like he’s seeing it in real life somewhere. Like…

“Like that!”

He points. Someone dodges under his arm with a grumble, but he hardly notices them. Inigo is across the food court, trying and failing to hit on some group of girls as usual, but it’s his smile that gets to Owain. That kind of smile, that’s the kind of smile in his dream, but a little different too. Maybe if it were hardened, or seemed sadder, or something, but it still matches well. About a ninety percent or so match, he’s certain, looking at it.

Owain pats himself on the back mentally for realizing it, then wonders why he didn’t realize it sooner. It’s as Inigo sees him from the corner of his eye that he realizes he just thought Inigo’s smile was lovely.

The girls slowly drift from Inigo, and even though it’s loud, Owain thinks he can hear one of them giggle at Inigo’s goodbye. It’s not often, but he does succeed every once and a while with the odd girl. To count since Owain’s known him, he’s gotten maybe three numbers...Out of a hundred.

Yet, three is a lot, suddenly. Three’s a crowd, or so the saying goes.

“Owain? Why are you just standing here?”

“O-Oh! Hey.” He draws his arm down, improvises as usual. “I spotted your philandering figure from across the chasm, and sought to stop you using the powers within my heavenly grasp!”

“Rude of you to call it philandering. I was merely saying hello!”

“It’s never just hello with you.” Owain snorts, and Inigo...Pouts.

Has he always done that? Owain wracks his brain for a memory of it, but he can’t remember any instance where it’s been the way it currently looks.

“I should report you for slandering my good name.”

“As if you could without it biting you in the butt. The way you try and flirt with half the student body—”

“Could you move, please?”

From the left, a mildly irritated voice looms over them, and the flash of someone’s lens glare.

 

* * *

 

Relief, the punch of adrenaline, dirt and grass and forest.

A lot of laughter, almost hysterical. A teasing grin.

_“        What can I say? Some things are just too precious to keep secret.       ”_

 

* * *

“I didn’t know you choreographed your own dances!”

“GAH!”

Inigo loses his footing when he shouts, nearly trips into the dirt. “Wha- Who- Owain?! What are you doing here?! It’s late! Don’t you usually sleep at this time?!”

“Midterm paper kept me in the library!”

It speaks loads that Owain doesn’t bother with his usual antics, alongside his slightly deranged grin. “But wow — what are you doing in beginning dance? That was—”

“You didn’t see anything! Nothing!” How mortifying. This spot is usually empty at this time of night, barely touched by the lights, and yet somehow Owain had spotted him despite that. “And you know why I’m in beginning dance!”

“Yeah, but if you showed them that—”

“Absolutely not! It’s not finished! It’s got a ton of spots lacking, and I haven’t even figured out the ending!”

“Well, okay, if you say so.”

Owain plops himself on the grass, lying flat on his back, turning his head to look at Inigo. “But it was good. At least to me.”

“Your brain is probably jumbled from your paper.” Inigo turns his head, feeling a hot flush creep across his cheeks. “More jumbled than usual, I mean.”

“I think my eyes still work.”

That grin is unfair, really.

“Shouldn’t you be going home?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Why you— Don’t backtalk at me!”

“Why not? What are you, my mom?” Inigo shoots him an indignant look, one he has the gall to laugh at before getting up, dusting off the front of his shirt. “Relax. The night has aged far too much to handle your petulance. Your psyche will ache in the morning light.”

“Adults, my friend, have a far easier time functioning on less sleep. Which means you should probably worry about your own psyche, rather than mine.”

Owain snickers, which, frankly, proves Inigo’s hypothesis that the man really needs to go to bed soon. Cute laugh or not, it’s a little concerning with the rest of his current look.

Not cute. It’s not a cute laugh. It’s Owain’s laugh, it can’t be cute, and Inigo vaguely thinks he needs to go to bed himself.

“I should — even those of preordained blood needed sleep in their times of trial.”

“Exactly. Now go to bed and forget about what you saw.”

“Nah, I don’t think I will.”

The smile is softer this time, and Inigo is loathe to admit that his heart stutters for a pulse before returning to normal. “It really was good, you know.”

“Yes yes, I’m sure your sleep deprived brain is capable of recognizing good from bad dancing.”

He shoos him away. It’s only until later that night, morning, that he stares at his ceiling and wishes that he wasn’t so to terms with aspects of himself, because they’re making things a bit awkward.

And Owain. Owain! Of all the people, it had to be Owain, with his bigger-than-life smile and the laugh that dwindled into wheezes, that Inigo takes a little more notice of.

It’s only a little. Hardly even matters.

Or so he says to himself, even though something about him reminds Inigo of the little light spot in his dreams. The one that always seems to be by his side when he needs it, the thing that stops him from giving up, even when he’s down to nothing but bloody hands and rusty swords, exhaustion sunk deep into his bones.

Owain is rubbing off on him, isn’t he. Inigo groans and tries to sleep a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Fuzzy, like something that never should have come to. An image like a faded photograph, weathered and aged.

Magic from the edges of his fingertips, a song. One of tragedy, of heroes.

_“        You...L҉̵̀͜a̶̢̕͠ś͢͟͞͏ļ̶̀o͏̸͜͠ẃ̵̷͘͏ of the Azure Skies!       ”_

 

* * *

This...Might be really bad.

He’s never really been all that concerned with romance or anything of the sort, aside from using it as a side plot sometimes in stories where it fits in nicely, but he’s starting to wish he had payed more attention to the stuff, because now, he’s at a loss.

This whole...Liking a person business? It doesn’t happen to him that often. Never has the mighty Owain Dark succumbed to the soft and fluffy wiles of pink auras, at least, not for long. And definitely not for someone who makes flirting with girls their full time job.

He groans, laying his head on his desk. Sure, Owain _Dark_ has faced impossible odds and come up untouched, but Owain? Regular, modern day, theater-literature double major Owain? He had trouble learning how to ride a bicycle for a couple of years. Hardly the kind of person to navigate the treacherous forests of romance with ease, especially with a guy that didn’t even seem interested in guys whatsoever.

Well, actually, Owain’s pretty sure he's caught him ogling a guy once or twice, but those times hardly counted. Those times had been while watching a video for class, some demonstrator in the video that you couldn’t not look at. He was demonstrating! Looking at him was the whole point! Inigo had stared at his abs with glassy eyes, but that meant nothing — anyone could appreciate a good set of abs! How could anyone not?

He sits up and looks down towards his stomach. He takes care of himself for theater, but maybe he should start going to the gym more often, and working out properly instead of spending two hours in the dance studio designing dramatic new scenes for his epic, _Odin Dark: The Sorcerer._

...Maybe Inigo is into that type—

“—Ugh.”

He rises from his desk, head in hand.

Fresh air is good, right? Clears the mind and all. He needs to get this...This...This red miasma away from him, and break free of its clutches before his friendship becomes compromised by a white winged demon.

“Come on, Owain Dark...Think of something else...Anything…”

His mother’s voice comes from the living room. “Owain? Are you muttering to yourself again?”

“N-No mom!” Foot in shoe. Other foot in shoe. “I’m gonna go out!”

“Okay! Have fun!”

The nice thing about living next to a university is all the options. There’s coffee, or tea, or whatever he can think of and whatever his wallet allows due to everyone wanting to eat and everyone needing some kind of caffeine.

He ends up going for coffee. Sugar will help. It always helps. And the rush really helps get him going when writing a new script, even if half the writing is illegible to the average human eye, nothing is too difficult for the mightiest of men to walk the Earth, meaning himself, of course.

It’s sipping on a sweetened iced coffee that he remembers the dream from last night. This one had been interesting, different from the others — fuzzier, hardly anything but a song and a few words spoken from his own lips, similar to the others in that way, but the voice had been different. Deeper, older, but the same tone, like an ancestor, a previous incarnation from an era of magic and mystery.

“Truly, Odin Dark felt no fear, not even in the face of death itself…”

He taps his pen twice against the pad before writing down a few lines, adding in a few scribbles for dramatic effect.

Something he’d said had been blurry in the dream, blurrier than usual. A word ending with _low_ , if he remembered right, but what word would fit? Below? Kilo? Hollow? 

He remembers the rest of what he'd said, just not that one word. It had been a beautifully concise line, ingenious if short.

“Of the azure skies…”

What of the azure skies? Who? A place, maybe?

“The Grove of the Azure Skies...No, that doesn’t sound right.” It didn’t end in low, for one. “Hollow of the Azure Skies...? No…”

“Are you as sweet as the drink you ordered, miss?”

A smooth tenor voice asks from the left of him, and Owain can’t help but lift his head, just in time to see a girl pack her bag and leave Inigo behind, sitting on a stool looking absolutely despondent.

Ouch. That one had left without even responding. He’s seen him get some pretty mean responses, but that one takes the cake, right next to the girl that had snapped at him for even approaching.

Half of him wants to make fun of him, but the other half beats it to the punch, and all he says is, “Inigo?”

“O-Owain! Why, what are you doing here?” His grin is incredibly awkward, and he’s turning pinker.

“Watching you get rejected again, apparently.” Inigo winces. Owain reins himself in before his big jealous mouth gets in the way. “Though that wasn’t my true intention. I needed sustenance, a sweet nectar only found through rigorous trial.”

“So to translate, you needed a drink.”

“If you wish to be a mere mortal about it, I guess…”

“Ha.” Inigo slides closer to him, and Owain tries to ignore the v-cut of his shirt. “You forget you’re in a world of so called ‘mere mortals’.”

“No one is a mere mortal unless they admit themselves to be.” He starts, ready to go into an entire motivational speech he’s been waiting for an opportunity to say when Inigo, peering over his arm, says, “ ‘Of the Azure Skies’...That’s a nice line.”

“Huh? Agh!” He covers the words with his hand, flustered. “That— Don’t look at that! This notebook is off limits!”

“Well, you saw my dancing, I say it’s only fair you show me your notebook.”

“Those are two different things!”

“Not at all, really! Come now, let me just—”

“No, no, no way! Don’t even try!”

Inigo tugs at his arm, Owain puts all his weight into his hand, and they’re locked in a short struggle before the stare of someone across the shop comes to Inigo’s attention and he lets go, to Owain’s deep and immense relief. Something in him had been adamant on not letting Inigo see.

“Oh fine, be that way. I already know the only good line in that book anyways.”

He’s being petty, but Owain has to ask.

“You really like it?”

“Hm?”

“You really like it? The phrase ‘of the azure skies’?”

“Yes,” The answer is immediate. “I do. It’s...Charming, I suppose?”

“Charming?”

“Yes, though, if I were to criticize…I think indigo would be better.”

There’s a little smile on his face, softer than Owain thinks he’s ever seen. It almost hurts to look at, which is...Unusual.

“ ‘Of the indigo skies’...You see what I mean?” He smiles, one of those ones that really reminds Owain of that grin in his dreams, but without the sad tint.

“ ‘Of the indigo skies’, you say? Hm…”

Owain pretends to think, but really, he just needs a moment to recover. Inigo’s genuine smile always packs a punch, and Owain is pretty sure that if he cut back on the pickup lines and just smiled, he’d be a lot more popular.

“Well, maybe the great Owain Dark will consider it.”

The noise in his chest starts to buzz, and he feels, deeply, that he’s had this conversation at some point before. When, he doesn’t remember, but the familiarity is too hard not to notice, as well as the dull ache in his heart and his head.

 

* * *

 

Fresh fruit. Glittering lights, a pretty atmosphere.

Dirt underfoot, cloth and something dying, the sound of steel not far off.

_“        We’re out to save the world,          . But great things come at great cost.       ”_

 

* * *

He’s woken up crying before, but not like this.

The dream is fragmented, and he can’t make sense of it through his tears, but his chest is tight, throbs, hurts like the last time he was broken up with, years ago in high school. No, not even like that.

This hurt feels older, older than he is, pain seeping out through his sobs, curled up in his bed.

He’s glad his mother isn’t here, but at the same time, he wishes she was. She always knew the best way to soothe him, her hand warm on his back, ruffling his hair.

But she’s far off, and he’s in a small studio by the school thanks to her and his father’s hard work, so instead he cries for something he can’t even name. Something he doesn’t understand, isn’t sure he can understand.

He gropes around for his phone, dwindles into sniffles as he dials a number.

The ringing reminds him of the time, but that doesn’t matter when they pick up anyways.

“Inigo? It’s six thirty in the morning? Are you okay?”

“You sound more awake than I thought you would.”

“Morning runs are the practice of legends…! But seriously, are you okay? You sound kind of off.”

He feels very silly, all of a sudden, for calling Owain, for crying, for everything. Silly, and extremely mortified, and the tears spring back to his eyes for an entirely different reason.

“O-Oh yes, I’m fine! Just fine. I’m not sure why I even called you in the first place, really.”

“You don’t sound fine to me.”

“Nonsense. I’m just peachy.”

The waterworks just won’t calm down today, will they? He had thought he'd gotten through this stage a while ago, years ago, when he used to cry every time he was rejected. Apparently not, if today is anything to go by.

“See? You wouldn’t ever say that if you were really fine.”

“Say what? How would you know?”

“We’re friends, duh. Of course I’d know how you talk. And ‘peachy’. That’s not an Inigo word.”

“What’s an Inigo word then?”

“Something like…’I’m fine, Owain. Unlike you and your amazing morning rituals to become a hero of legend, I just woke up too early.’ “

“That isn’t a word. It _is_ a very long and ridiculous lie though.”

“Rude! And I was trying to cheer you up! I know you wouldn’t actually say that, probably.”

It’s working, to his partial dismay. He scrubs his eyes gently with his fist.

“Hey,” He sounds loud, and Inigo jumps a little, pulling his phone away from his ear, “open up.”

“H-h-huh?” Open up? Open up what? About what? Has he figured it out? Inigo’s willing to admit that calling someone at six thirty in the morning isn’t usually a thing people do, but, “What, what do you mean?”

“Open your door! You still live at A1314 right? Please tell me I’m right.”

“What— WHAT?”

“Come on, hurry up! Ugh, it’s kind of cold now that I’ve stopped moving.”

He nearly falls out of his bed, tangled in the comforter and still holding his still charging phone. In favor of speed, he drops both, leaps towards the door and almost knocks his forehead into it in the process.

“Hoy there! Owain Dark has come bearing gifts in the form of liquid heat, made from the fire of— Whoa, hey, what the heck? Have you been crying?”

“You’ve been here ONCE!” Inigo yells before remembering that it’s six thirty in the morning and that his neighbors probably hate him right now. “Come inside!”

Owain shuffles in, two drinks in a carrier, and the smell of coffee fills his apartment. It’s soothing, which is nice, but he’s too caught up with everything happening to really pay it notice.

“Yeah well, I actually have a pretty good memory, so thanks for that faith in me.” Owain sets the drinks gently on only counter space available. “That’s besides the point though. You don’t look good.”

“I haven’t had the time to freshen up, since someone appeared at my doorstep before I could.” He avoids eye contact, opts to look at the coffee instead. “How did you even get here so fast?”

“I was...Kind of already in the area? I like running over here.”

“And you just happened to buy a set of coffee while you were out?”

“Well, there is a shop across the street. And you didn’t sound that good.”

Owain gets closer, tugging his shoes off, and Inigo backs up, just a step. He doesn’t move again.

“Hey, be honest with me, okay? What’s wrong?” Owain shoots him an awkward smile, and Inigo feels guilt creep up his back. “I’m sort of worried right now.”

“It...It’s nothing, really. I just…”

Owain waits, and Inigo stares at his tracksuit. It’s a weird yellow that shouldn’t look good on anyone, and yet Owain manages to make it look slightly less dorky than it would be otherwise.

“...Promise you won’t laugh?”

“On my honor! On my very soul!”

“All right, all right.” He’s always had a bad habit of fiddling with his hands when he’s nervous. “I...I had a dream.”

“A nightmare?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really think it was one. I don’t...I don’t even understand myself. I just woke up and started...You know.”

“Crying? Weeping? Sobbing in anguish?” Owain says, “Because that’s honestly what you look like you were doing.”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it…”

“Sorry.” He really does sound like it. “So uh...You okay now then?”

Inigo sighs. “Hopefully? This whole morning has already been strange enough.”

“Yeah, I could kind of tell.”

“Thanks for bringing coffee.”

“No problem. I didn’t tell them sugar or cream or anything though.”

“What, you haven’t memorized my coffee preferences yet?”

“Not hot coffee. You like your iced coffee weirdly bitter though.”

“You notice the oddest things.”

“It’s the spirit of generosity I was blessed with. It’s a common trait among the chosen ones.”

“ ‘Chosen ones’? It’s not really one then, is it?”

“I meant in history! Over time!”

“Ha...Hahaha!”

He can’t help it, he laughs. Owain tends to have that effect on him, in a good way, most of the time.

“This whole conversation is so ridiculous. Why do you always drag me into these sort of things?”

“I don’t drag you into anything! You come willingly along for the ride, a fan of my riveting tales! And uh, please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? What—”

The tracksuit is actually a really nice material, Inigo thinks. Soft, warm, everything a tracksuit should be, except for the color.

That's his first thought. The second is that Owain is taller than him by more than he realized, and the third is that he gives the best kind of hug. The fourth is the understanding that Owain is hugging him, which is both wonderful and everything he could hope for and the most petrifying experience in his life, save the first time he had a dance recital.

“What are you doing?” He says, half muffled by the suit, more than a little appalled, and completely red in the face, probably.

“You looked like you needed one? And this is all I really know how to do to console someone, so uh, I figured, might as well, right?”

“Do you do everything without thinking at all, or…?”

Owain squeezes him tighter, tight enough to hurt a little, but even as Inigo complains part of him delights in it. “I’m trying to be a good friend here.”

Friend, right. Friends hug each other. Hugging is a platonic thing too.

Which means...It should be fine to hug him back.

Since it’s a friend thing. A good friend sort of thing.

He does. Owain shivers the tiniest of shivers when Inigo puts his hands on his back, returning the embrace.

“...Thanks.”

“It was nothing.”

When Owain leaves, two hours later, Inigo thinks, _I’m so fucked._

 

* * *

 

There’s a multitude of colors whirling around him, sights and smells and feelings, but the only thing that he clearly understands are the words that come from his own mouth, very much a child, very much an adult.

_"        …Hey, Inigo?       ”_

 

* * *

“Ah finally, the beast slain, conquered in the sweetest of victories! Though the battle was almost lost, the war was won through sweat and tears, and noble sacrifice.”

“Yes yes, finals are over.”

Inigo swats him with a stray straw, sipping on a freshly made cup of coffee. Why he keeps straws, Owain has no clue, but he’s so far gone that he’s beginning to find it cute.

Great. Straw-hoarding as cute. Soon he’ll bring so much shame to the name Owain Dark he’ll have to come up with some other counterego. One that’s a lovesick fool who can’t see past his own nose. Maybe something from Shakespeare would work…

“Owain? Hello? Have you gotten lost in your own head for real this time?”

“Huh?” Back to the modern day. “Of course not! My mind may be a vast forest atop the greatest of mountains, but Owain Dark never loses his way.”

Owain, however, does, especially when the person he likes is right in front of him. But here he talks of Owain Dark, who knows his way around everything, just as a legend should.

Just Owain, on the other hand, is debating the pros and the cons of whether he should say something and get it over with or if he should say nothing and live with the agony until it fades. It’s not the easiest of choices, and Owain is not the most talented of navigators.

For a split moment of madness, he almost respects Inigo’s flirting habit. It must be rough, being rejected tri-hourly.

Instead of making a decision, he pushes it aside and sips at the coffee Inigo’s made. It's some blend that’s recognizable, though Owain can’t fully recall the name. It’s probably from the shop across the street.

“Say, what are your plans for this winter vacation?”

“I and my kin seek to test our wills in snowy trials...We ride to the peak of the highest mountain and prove our strength through battle!”

“And so, that means…”

“Play along sometimes, sheesh.” Owain grumbles. Inigo merely shrugs. “We stay at a lodge.”

“A lodge? Seriously?”

“My uncle has a friend who lets us stay there for cheap, so long as one of us beats him at snowboarding.”

“I imagine you can’t?”

“Hey, watch it! I’m pretty good, you know!”

Inigo ignores him. Owain huffs quietly to himself and wonders how he could like someone who has no faith in him at all.

“Snow...I miss the country snow.”

The sigh out his mouth reminds him.

“It was really white...Nothing like the snow here.”

“It’s more like hail over here.”

“True.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as the both of them look out the window at the grey sky.

“What are you doing?” He asks, just to say something. “For the break.”

“Well, I’ll probably go see my folks towards the holidays...But until then, I’ll just be here.”

He looks so put out that Owain almost consoles him, but then he has to ruin it. “Maybe I’ll find a cutie to keep me company during the cold nights...”

“If you’re going to do that, you should just come with me to the lodge.” It’s out his mouth like a bitter pill, the image of Inigo’s fantasy leaving a bad taste. “The more the merrier.”

He’s not prepared for the wide eyes or the bright blush that covers Inigo’s cheeks when he says that. Had he come on too strong? Did that even count as a come on? His cousin invited friends all the time, it couldn’t be...Could it? Did Inigo want it to be? What was the blush about? Why was Inigo always so confusing?!

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Huh? Why would I?”

“Just…”

Inigo sits down on the floor, carefully setting his mug on the ground. Owain follow suit.

“I’m not usually invited to things like that. Is—is there something I should do beforehand? Am I supposed to bring a gift or something? I’ve never met your family before, uhm. Will they be all right with that?”

He rolls with it, hope in his heart. “As long as you don’t hit on anyone, it’ll be fine with them.”

“If you’re sure, then...When? Do you go, I mean.”

Owain can’t help it, he leans into Inigo’s space, grinning. “Are you really gonna come? Seriously?”

“Were you joking…?”

It’s times like these where Owain has trouble understanding Inigo’s reactions. He sounds so dejected at the idea Owain was kidding, which does nothing but stoke his ego way more than it should.

“Of course not! I just didn’t expect you to say you’d come!" He reassures, "Aw, this is so exciting…!”

He can tell him there! Or not, whatever, the main thing is that he’ll get to see him over break for a reason other than showing up at random, like he had originally planned. 

Inigo cracks a smile back at him, almost shy, still a little pink. Owain absolutely cannot help himself, he drags him into a hug, careful to keep his own face out of sight. He’s sure he’s turning red.

“Owain, honestly!” Inigo’s voice is muffled, and Owain snickers at it. “You’re just like a big dog.”

“You dare compare Owain Dark to a mere animal? Such mockery will lead curses to your being, to your very soul! You will rue the day you dared to say such folly.”

“I won’t, because I expect that a true legendary hero wouldn’t go around cursing others in the first place.”

“Grk! W-well, you’re wrong!”

“Am I really?” Inigo draws back, and Owain turns his head to glare at the teasing grin on his face, “Would the mighty Owain Dark really think of cursing such an innocent mortal man like myself?”

“You’re no mere mortal, you…You’re...”

His words trail off. As he takes in Inigo’s face, he swallows, close enough to see the light freckles, brown eyes, coffee with creamer. Eyes that flick downwards before looking back up at him, grin fading from his face.

“Owain?”

It’s a whisper, and it pulls him in, like a siren’s call.

He’s kissed someone before. Just once or twice, child’s play, and nothing like this, careful, measuring the distance. In that brief moment before he crosses the final bridge of space, almost but not quite, he notices the smell of a light cologne, mixed with the scent of coffee that wafts from their abandoned mugs, and the way Inigo’s eyes flutter shut, lips parting, a sliver of space, waiting.

He’s not the kind of person to make someone wait. He hates waiting too, after all.

Gently, he presses his lips to Inigo’s.

His lips are chapped, not roughly, but enough to notice. He’s trembling, or maybe the both of them are, Owain can’t tell.

He can’t tell how long they stay there, skimming the surface of their lips before they part, only half an inch, breathless.

Inigo looks at him with half-lidded eyes and rose-colored cheeks. Owain leans back in but pauses, pressing his forehead against Inigo’s instead.

“Inigo of the Indigo Skies.” He says, voice low, heart pounding in his chest. “I…”

“Owain,” Inigo says, and there’s an odd edge to his voice that stops him from continuing. “Owain...Say that again?”

“I...Inigo of the Indigo Skies?”

He had written it beforehand, during a late night session of fantasy confessions, but now that he says it again, it rolls off the tongue like it's been there since long before.

“This is going to be a strange question,” Inigo says, and his voice has gone flat, neutral, “but do you...Do you think…”

He waits, but Inigo doesn’t continue, just stares, contemplative look on his face.

“...Hey, Inigo?”

He says, and then

he _remembers_.

**Author's Note:**

> Lot of words down here, because I just. Have so much to say about this fic.
> 
> I literally woke up one morning after a dream, remembered nothing about the dream, but then felt a huge burning urge to write this fic. I think I was thinking about owainigo before going to bed, but I'm not even sure. I jumped out of bed and ran to my laptop, wrote this at a fever pitch for the whole day, and then spent 3 more days writing it with variating degrees of calmness and insanity. I don't even understand myself.
> 
> I've roomed with a theater major and a dance major, and at my uni, theater majors have to take a few dance related classes. I don't know if it's like this everywhere, but I went with what I knew. 
> 
> Oneiro/n means dream in Greek, according to wikipedia. The -n doesn't make a difference, but I liked it there. This whole fic happened like a dream itself. Google started telling me real words weren't words, which didn't help, especially while writing Owain. Writing Owain is like some kind of serious writing exercise from Hell.
> 
> During the creation of this fic, I listened to a hilarious amount of Troye Sivan, mainly the song Fools, and then a cover of Fools by BTS. If you want ambiance, I suggest that, along with the song Youth. 
> 
> I blame twitter at least partially for this, because it was thanks to people's twitter rp logs that I even considered this fic.
> 
> About Owain and Inigo — I'm partial to Vaike!Owain and/or Ricken!Owain, and Donnel!Inigo, if you're wondering about why Inigo is from the sticks. Owain is a year younger. Lens glare guy was Laurent because I love Laurent and he needs to cameo in every single fic I write, apparently. I hope they felt relatively similar to canon, at least. I'm not that confident in my Owain OR my Inigo voice, just because they've got really particular speech habits, but...Eh. Sorry for any copious amount of cheese. I am weak to it with these two.
> 
> And finally, I debated adding in a short part after the end, but I decided against it. I posted it in the comments though, just so you could see what I came up with. I like the ending of this fic a lot, actually, but I'm aware it's kind of one of those endings that leaves you screaming in part anguish, part 'holy shit, hooooly shit'. Hope you like the fic either way though.


End file.
